


our hearts we have sold.

by actualraptcr



Series: ColdFlash Week Fall 2019 [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: ColdFlash Week 2019, Identity Reveal, M/M, and len just really likes the pretty new bartender at saints and sinners, barry's undercover for the ccpd, but also still working as the flash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:11:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualraptcr/pseuds/actualraptcr
Summary: Leonard Snart has always been called a genius, especially when it came to the intricacies of a heist, at noticing even the smallest of details - and yet somehow the kid with superpowers and his little team of scientists constantly seem to forget this.OR; Len is a lot smarter than everyone thinks, and Barry is a lot less subtle than he hopes.





	our hearts we have sold.

**Author's Note:**

> here's round two of my fill for coldflash fall week 2019 - identity reveal ! I don't know where this was going, or how my mind managed to get the ramblings down on paper but there we go

Leonard Snart was, despite the rumour mill that trickled through Central, a genius. Many in the CCPD called him a common thug, a violent man without mercy acting on impulse. They ignored the fact that for all their efforts he hadn’t been pinned with a crime in a decade.

He’d had to learn fast of course, under the closed fist and broken bottles of his father’s love, how to be quick. How to case a joint and take note of guard routes, which tellers were the easiest marks, if the cameras were actually on or simply there as deterrents. His childhood was spent working over and over and over again on security systems that aged and changed alongside himself, grew ever more complex and there was something beautiful about that.

In the way it all challenged him to be greater.

Leonard used this ability, his finely honed skills, to carve a pocket of the criminal underworld for himself. Sure he got caught now and then; spent several years in juvie or behind bars at Iron Heights, but it all pushed him to grow. To find faster, better ways to steal, until the gaps between his stints in prison grew longer and longer. Until the name Snart tasted bitter and resentful on the tongue of every officer and detective in the Gem Cities. 

He had rules of course. Never the same crew twice, switched out his associates whenever he needed to find the right combination for each job. Follow the plan, or those that didn’t found themselves with hot lead in their hearts. Don’t fence the conquests in the first four months after the fact, never run a job in the same city within a year, and never grow attached.

Of course he broke his own rules now and then. Kept a piece instead of selling it on, carried out smaller, solo jobs within the same city - sometimes within the same night, abused the distraction of his crew to earn a little extra on the side.

Len loved the thrill of it all, but slowly the shine of it faded as all things did. He grew bored of easy jobs and easy money, took his short temper out on his contacts, his friend, his sister.

And then the Streak appeared.

Cocky and young and full of unbridled power wrapped up in a pretty little package of bright red leather. A speedster, lightning in a bottle and he challenged Leonard in a way he’d never experienced before. He found ways to push against that power, stole a gun from the hero’s little friends - a gun built to stop him, to hurt him, and it was delicious. So easy to slip into the role of super-villain and he loved it.

The Flash made him love the game again.

The Flash brought him and Mick back together, fire and ice and oil and water and as much as his hothead of a best friend pushed his patience to its limit, he was grateful for the chance to reconnect.

Every changed after the particle accelerator exploded, gifted powerhouses flooded the streets and if Leonard wanted to stay ahead of the changing world, keep himself on top, then he needed his own little operation to do so.

It wasn’t hard to convince Lisa or Mick to join his side, even if his sister kept things close to her chest for now. He didn’t need to play his hand too early. They staked a claim to a little dive bar called Saints and Sinners, cleared the Santini and Darbinyan muscle from the area with finely placed threats, and created their own territory.

All he had to do was keep it firmly in his grasp.

In fact he’d been making plans to steal a few old cars, make a splash across the news once more, perhaps draw the Scarlet Speedster out for a little rematch of wit. And no matter what Lisa said, it wasn’t because he missed the little brat.

But a new face had him pausing. Recalculating his plans for the evening. 

There was a boy in the bar, all pale skin and flyaway dark hair, a smile that went on for miles despite the strained tension to it. And oh those dimpled cheeks? Adorable. 

Clearly a new bartender, hands working quick over the drinks even as they shake with nerves every time Marcy walked over to check everything was fine. Leonard found himself settled into the booth along the side of the room that had become his over the many weeks since they’d claimed the bar as their own, and watched.

Took note of the freckles that dusted across the bridge of the boy’s nose, the constellation of moles that dotted his neck and disappeared under the collar of his soft looking sweater and Len found himself wondering how many more he had. Began to admire the way he smiled at near everyone, how it lit up his whole face, how he managed to drag laughter from the gruff lowlifes that clung to the bar.

He called Mick, told him the job was being moved to next week - the owner wasn’t due back in town until the following Friday, they had the time to spare, and he had something far more interesting to steal. There was a fragile sort of innocence to the new boy at the bar, and Leonard wanted to see it tarnished by his own hands.

There is no one at the bar when he makes his move, body folded onto one of the empty stools as the bartender turned his back to fetch a fresh towel. Len appreciated the view it provided, elbows pressed to the wooden top and chin propped atop his linked hands. “I’ll have a whiskey neat.”

Leonard eyed the way the line of his back tensed as the boy stilled, muscles pulled taut beneath soft cotton and slowly unfurled from his crouch. Turned big brown eyes on Len, wait no, there were flecks of green and gold to them, wide with surprise and mouth open in a soft ‘o’. His lips were soft looking, a small cupid’s bow that Len wanted to lean over and taste.

Something shadowed flashed in those eyes as their gazes lingered, like anger or frustration but it was gone faster than Leonard could blink. Perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, because those sweet lips parted in a polite smile a moment later, "Sure - single or double?"

"Make it a double, why not." Len returned and let his face settle into a cool smirk. If he let his words roll slow as molasses, use that slight Central slum drawl to his advantage, so be it. Lisa called it his Cold voice now he had a cute little nickname from Flash's buddies, and he rather liked the way it felt.

It felt powerful to pull a persona over his shoulders, allowed himself to be greater than he was. An even playing field in a world where super-powered maniacs and lightning quick golden boys ruled the world of crime. His father wouldn't approve - old fashioned values of gangsters and pointed threats pushed to the wayside. 

A short glass placed by long boned fingers between his propped elbows, no fanfare and without comment. And that wouldn't do. 

Leonard snatched the glass up with a slow twist of his wrist, gaze never leaving the bartender as he took a long draw of golden liquid. The other looked painfully young, almost to the point where he doubted he was even old enough to drink. He wouldn't have put it past Marcy to hire underage for a pretty pout. "What's your name kid?"

His question met resistance, could see the shuttered glaze that came into the other's hazel eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. Len simply let his eyebrow raise, expectant and a refusal to back off.

The kid sighed, loud and sudden through his nose as though Leonard had greatly inconvenienced him, the mental debate of weighed risk winning out in Len's favour. "Barry."

No last name and purposefully left out, but for someone like himself, it was more than enough to do a little digging. So he raised his glass in a mocking salute, downed the last of the whiskey and left.

\-------

Barry Allen.

Disgraced CSI, recently fired from the CCPD after rumours of foul play and tampering of evidence in convictions - nothing fully proven in the end, and no charges pressed but enough damage done to lose the kid his job.

Father locked up in Iron Heights for the murder of his mother, but Leonard had it on good authority that the kid still visited. Loathe as he was to admit, the saying ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ applied far more often in the criminal underworld.

So, an ex-forensics expert keeping bar and wiping down tables for a fraction of his previous pay.

Something Len kept in mind as he returned to Saints the next night, and the night after that.

\-------

The Santini’s weren’t pleased. Several bodies dumped down alleys and near safe houses Len had burned months ago, all con-men who’d worked in his crews within the last decade. An act of war had Leonard been anyone else, had the short fuse most of the Families seemed to possess. But Len’s rage was glacial.

It burned cold.

He left Mick with the burnt husk of a building, the arsonist’s head thrown back with glee as the flames roared high and fast - there’d been no sign of the Flash in a week, at least not where they were concerned. No one to stop as they’d ransacked a Santini stronghold, bodies left behind either shattered and covered in ice, or melted flesh clinging to charred bone.

Central no longer had room for two-bit crimelords and their grudge matches, over inflated egos and hot air. Leonard planned to change that, this little patch of downtown under his protection only the start of his new reign. And with Ramon’s guns? It was going to be a walk in the park.

“You stink of smoke.” 

Len didn’t allow himself to startle, simply flickered his gaze up from the plate of long grown cold fries to the expectant frown of his favourite bartender. He’d hoped by leaving the parka back at his current safe house that a majority of the telling scent would be gone, but clearly not. It clung to his hair, his skin like a second layer.

Len pursed his mouth, tone sardonic and icy when he replied, “Filthy habit, I know.”

That elicited a harsh sound from the back of Barry’s throat, dismissive and unimpressed as he set the beer he’d been carrying down with a hard thunk at Len’s elbow. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Interesting.

He’d only left the scene of the crime half an hour ago. But perhaps Allen still had contacts on the force who kept him up to date. Either way Len wanted to push just a little. He’d spent long enough simply observing.

“Oh? Then whatever do you mean Barry?” Couldn’t help the way his tongue curled over the name and watched a peculiar ripple of something through the other’s frame. And then his long body curved and took a seat opposite, suspicious light never once leaving his eyes.

Leonard had seen Barry keep conversation with almost anyone, and yet not once had he offered Len anything beyond a tightly polite greeting up until then.

He tipped his head, attention to his food long lost in favour of chasing this new side to the boy with dimpled smiles. And no, he wasn’t jealous or infatuated or pining or whatever other nonsense Lisa tried to plaster over the situation.

“I meant,” Barry began, tone biting and sharp across the table, disapproval dripped between teeth, “That you reek of it. It’s not cigarette smoke, I’ve been around enough fires to tell the difference Snart. Coincidentally there was a fire down by the docks earlier.”

It was a statement, not an observation. Allen definitely knew he’d been there. He also knew who he was. Leonard couldn’t recall offering his name to the kid before.

He put off answering by taking a drag of slightly too warm beer - and how long exactly had Barry been hovering, waiting to confront him? There was a level of anger in the way the kid leant onto the table across from him, radiating an aura of power which threw him for a loop. Allen was tall, sure, but thin as a rake and pouted like a puppy. The opposite of intimidating.

Eyes narrowed and calculating, Leonard met the confrontation with a front of his own, matched the ferocity of the kid with a calm rumble, “Are you accusing me of doing something untoward?

Leonard watched as the younger man’s jaw worked hard, caught sight of one fist clenched atop the table, and counted it as a win when Barry stood abruptly and stalked off without another word.

\-----

He couldn’t say how it started, who initiated first contact, but Leonard would take full responsibility for all the times that followed.

Barry pushed into him one night after closing, a lithe line of boyish eagerness down his front, and tucked neatly between Len’s thighs. His hands had fisted with frustration and barely concealed ire into the soft ruff of his Captain Cold parka to keep Leonard still and pressed a feverishly hot mouth against his own. Len bit at the soft lips he’d dreamt of, drew out breathy gasps and moans from the younger man every chance he could. Laved his tongue along a particularly sensitive spot where the long arch of Barry’s neck met freckled shoulder.

It was a battle, a give and take that gave him a thrill low in his stomach. He’d never been with anyone quite so responsive, felt awed again and again as Barry writhed under his ministrations. But it never stayed dominating for long. The kid would pull back, almost as though he’d startled himself, and use his lips and tongue to slow it down. Turn the hard tug of teeth against skin into playful nips, would caress the skin along Leonard’s back where they’d rucked up his shirt, fingers catching and pausing over taut scar tissue in a way that seemed apologetic.

And no matter how hard Len tried, he could never work them back up again. Could never get further than a palm against the front of the kid’s scandalously tight jeans before there’d be an almost palpable shift in the air - a buzz in his ears, and he’d find nothing but a sweet smile and achingly gentle kiss pressed to his cheek.

They’d pant into each other’s mouths, suck deep marks into each other’s skin and grasp drag hips in a slow dance of friction that never went any further like some kind of ancient torture practice. They'd murmur quietly into the air between them, confessions and secrets shared in the night and something close to affection in every brush of hands. 

It drove him to distraction.

So when Mick came calling at his doorstep, trigger finger itching and a manic gleam to his eye, impatient to finally torch those paintings he'd promised weeks ago - Len didn’t think. He acted.

\------

The next time he saw Barry, muscles sore and tired from finally having dragged the Flash into the public eye, the kid is an entertaining sight. Confusion, shock, irritation and anger all in rapid fire across his youthful features. Not a word is spoken, no matter how hard Leonard tried to get a rise from the other, tried to get them alone in a dark corner, eventually he called it quits.

He also pointedly ignored the knowing smirk Lisa favoured him with the rest of the evening.

\------

“Lenny this is getting ridiculous.”

Teeth ground together near painfully, Leonard kept his focus solely on the blueprints in his hands. They had days to get the issues ironed out and if his sister wanted to be unhelpful he saw no reason to entertain her. 

Her arm wound over his shoulder, and even when he twisted out from under her hold she held fast - fingernails sharp where they pinched even through his thick sweater. 

“I don’t get it. He’s pretty sure, but not worth getting so worked up about.” He could tell she was pouting, her lower lip pressed out in an exaggerated fashion at odds with the sickly sweet venom of her tone. “Hell, he won’t even look at you anymore - and from what you said he’s an uptight little so and so that lead you along. Gave you a serious case of blue balls and promptly told you to fuck off.”

“Lise, _drop it_.”

Her grip tightened, once, twice, before she let go and stood back with a hissed breath between her teeth. “You’re always so snippy when you need to get laid.”

The side of his fist stung where he slammed it into the table and she stilled at his shoulder. Silence settled like a heavy cloak between them and Leonard regretted his outburst even as his skin felt tight and hot with frustration.

Barry hadn’t shown his face in Saints for weeks, and his confrontations against the Flash had gained a level of friction Leonard found himself floundering in. Charged words instead of the easy back and forth of carefully crafted puns and entirely unsubtle flirtations (Len was old, not blind and that costume hugged his body in all the right places).

But Lisa didn’t deserve his anger. She’d had enough of that particular breed of emotion from their father.

“Jerk.” She said eventually, softly and apologetic.

“Trainwreck.” He replied, gentle and regretful.

Len took hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it before she moved away and out of the room, left him to his plotting. The blueprints meant nothing now, details blurred in his mind, because all he could think about were a pair of gold-green eyes and the bright smile beneath them.

\------

The day after his last explosive run-in with the Flash, Leonard found himself sat at his usual spot in the back corner of Saints and Sinners nursing a bottle of tequila and in a foul mood. Mick had gone off the rails, entranced by the danger of the burning man - the Firestorm or whatever stupid name Team Flash had managed to come up with for the super-human. Left Len in the lurch, alone against the Scarlet Speedster and wholly out of his depth, pressed into a corner with little chance of escape.

He’d been prepared for the fist swung his way, far slower than the hero was capable of but powerful all the same - caught the leather clad fist in his palm. Leonard hadn’t anticipated how close that would put them both, the speedster all but caging him against the glass display case he’d been aiming to break into before they’d been interrupted.

“Getting a little handsy there, Scarlet.” He’d bit out, sneer across his mouth and the other had seemed ready to retort before something odd happened.

Leonard had watched, entranced, as colour slowly spread from underneath the mask that swept over the man’s cheeks. Had seen the hesitant way the hero’s gaze had shifted from the outlandish goggles Len wore to protect his eyes from the flare of his gun, down to linger on his mouth.

And hadn’t that been enlightening. Made him wonder how far down the blush might go, how the lightning that sparked across the other's skin might taste. Watched with cool calculation as the tip of a pink tongue came out to nervously sweep across the speedster's own lips. It served as strong enough a distraction that neither had been prepared to deal with the sudden reappearance of Firestorm as he flew back through. Len had enough time to brace for impact before the fiery hero had barrelled into them, and he felt a rib crack under the force of it.

It hurt to breathe, no matter how tightly Lisa had tried to bind his chest. But Leonard had more than enough experience rolling with the punches to let a hairline fracture slow him down.

So there he sat, fourth shot of alcohol burning down his throat as he licked his proverbial wounds, when another body carefully eased into the booth beside him.

Len looked up from his glass to meet familiar eyes. The Flash’s eyes - no. His vision blurred for a moment as his buzz hit and when it cleared the face attached to the striking gaze took form. Barry. The bartender.

The one who kissed so softly Leonard felt his heart ache. Who reached up now to rest a palm against the beginnings of stubble on Len’s cheek and smiled, warm and slow like a flower blossoming in the sun.

Something clicked into place then, as Barry carefully licked into his mouth with careful determination. A realization that Len really should have seen coming from a mile away.

\------

Leonard watched the way this boy moved from then on, took notice of the otherworldly grace to the line of his legs, the sway of his hips. The way he spun on his heel just a shade too fast to catch a falling glass before it could inch over the edge of the counter. And he couldn’t help but wonder now that he was paying attention. 

Because he’d seen these movements before, he was sure of it. Seen those long limbs coiled to run, powerful and intoxicating on the body of a god-like young man with a smile that could blind the sun (the Speedster really needed to rethink the mask situation, a strip of red leather hugging the curves of his cheekbones and framing his gorgeous hazel eyes did nothing to conceal his identity if someone were really looking).

And that voice? He’d heard many of the crooks collared by the Flash complain about the distorted way he spoke, the way his whole face would blur with the force of his speed. But he’d seen the hero’s face, heard his real voice. How youthful it sounded, how sincere and righteously angry it could be. Raw and unfettered by whatever mechanics they implemented to conceal the truth.

Barry was Hermes, mercury given human form, and he was beautiful.

Now he knew where to look, Leonard wondered how he’d ever not noticed the glaringly obvious neon signs that all pointed toward Barry Allen and the Flash being one and the same.

\------

When he pressed Barry into the wall and sucked long and hard at his favourite spot along the speedster’s neck, he refused to be pushed away again. Leonard shifted his attention further up, licked and bit a pathway up the moles that dusted Barry’s jawline and back to his ear, breathed hot and wetly against the shell of it. Let his hands wander down and tease the edge of the younger man’s jeans - felt how turned on the speedster truly was.

“Barry,” He crooned, low and nasal, teeth pressed into skin as he smirked and finally played his hand, “Why don’t you be a dear and _ run _ us somewhere a little more private, hmm?”

Len could tell the moment it sunk in, and it happened in quick succession.

First, Barry sucked in a breath so hard, it was as though he’d taken a punch to the sternum. Then a full body shudder had worked its way through the hero from head to toe, near blurred with the force of it, and said in a horrified and adorably scandalised, but no less aroused tone, “_ How long have you known? _”

And then finally, as though the relief at being able to let go wiped all patience from his body, Barry’s hold had shifted and Leonard had a millisecond to begin to voice an answer in his defence before they were suddenly somewhere else.

His back collided with a bed, sheets rumpled from use and managed to gather his bearings enough to assume that they’d ended up in Barry’s room - wherever that may be - before he had a lapful of eager young speedster to keep him occupied for the foreseeable future.

\-------

“You vibrate.” He said, slow and blank, and finally had a name for that odd sensation he’d felt whenever they got carried away before Barry had pulled back in their previous encounters.

Barry gave him a sheepish nod, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. As though he hadn’t just provided Len with a treasure trove of fantasies to jerk off to later. As if that didn’t make him even more incredible than he’d ever dreamed.

So yes, Leonard really was going to enjoy taking apart the hero beneath his hands, bit by bit.

**Author's Note:**

> me: tries to make it introspective and thematic  
also me: but like len is an idiot in love and can't help but wax poetic about actual greek god barry allen


End file.
